Broken
by AngstAngstAngstLove
Summary: Post 12x03. Dean shouldn't have been surprised. Tag to 12.03 "The Foundry".


He just couldn't.

He couldn't think about the fact that his mother had left him.

He couldn't look his brother in the eye and see the moisture he knew would be right on the brink of escape.

He couldn't feel the ache at the knowledge that the one good thing that had happened to him had been ripped away like a bandaid, his old wounds oozing over the surface.

He couldn't remember Sam's words, the warning that their mother was not coping, his own reassurance that everything was okay.

Everything was not okay.

Everything would not be okay.

It was one thing to have his mother cruelly snatched away by the demon, at least then there was someone to blame. It was quite different to have her walk out on her own two feet. He couldn't believe this was happening, and so soon after they had gotten her back. How could she? Didn't she understand how much he needed this? How much Sam needed this? They finally had a mother, after all of these years. She liked the same foods as him, the same music. Finally, someone was operating on his same wavelength. How could she do this?

He wanted to run after her, but his feet felt cemented to the ground. He wanted to be angry at her, furious at being abandoned as if he were some petulant child. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't even do that. The numbness inside was spreading like a cancer, glossing over these stronger emotions that he just couldn't handle right now. Numbness was easy, it was familiar. It appeared strong at the first sign of being in over his head and was easily nurtured with copious amounts of alcohol. After this, he needed his own fucking distillery.

"Did-was-" Sam stammered, looking every bit as wrecked as Dean had felt before the numbness had taken over, "What just happened?"

Dean laughed dryly, bitter and not even slightly humorous, "Winchester curse."

"Do you-"

Dean cut his younger brother off before he could ask any ridiculous question that they both already knew the answer to….no, he wasn't okay. Yes, he was going to pretend he was okay. No, he had no idea what just happened. No, they weren't going to go after her. Yes, he was sure. "Just stop it, Sam. This isn't the time to grow a uterus or something."

Without a word, he turned and retreated to his room, where he could be alone with his whiskey and his music, where there wouldn't be hurt little brothers who wanted emotional connections that he just wasn't capable of at the moment.

Sinking onto the foot of the bed, he took a long pull from the bottle, not even bothering with a glass. He should have known this would happened, and on some level he did know. This was the way of his life. His mother left him (not by choice) when he was a kid. His father abandoned him time and time again, sometimes for weeks, with the burden of caring for his younger sibling. Sam abandoned him for college. Their father abandoned him, again, to hunt the demon down alone, and then to top it off, made a deal and abandoned him once more. Sam had taken off multiple times. Cas had walked out on him. Everyone else was dead. Sure, he and Sam had each other and didn't need Mary, but for how long until they fought and Sam felt it necessary to take off again? How many times would he need to be walked out on before he convinced himself not to let anyone back in? Why did he even entertain the idea that this would be any different?

How ironic was it that his mother had his taste in music, food and hunting but the one trait she left to Sam was running away when things got too hard?

He tossed the half-full bottle against the wall, taking great satisfaction in hearing it smash to bits.

Dean didn't see the door open, or even hear it creak, but he felt Sam's presence anyway. It had always been this way, he supposed it was one of the side effects of raising the kid.

"I said I don't want to do any of that touchy-feely-talking crap."

"I know."

"So go away."

"I…" Sam said quietly, trailing off and shifting his weight in a way that made Dean remember an anxious seven year old instead of a thirty three year old man, "Can I just stay? No talking, nothing...just…"

Dean moved over a bit, giving his brother some space to join them. There was really nothing to say. This sucked, but it wasn't unexpected-sure, he hadn't expected her to up and walk away, but he didn't expect to get to keep her. That wasn't the Winchester way.

He felt something on his leg and he turned his head towards Sam, purposefully keeping his gaze off of Sam's puppy eyes that would further destroy his fragile grip on the numbness. He wasn't ready to feel this yet. He was surprised to see Sam had brought more whiskey and even more surprised to see Sam had already indulged in some. Perhaps he wasn't the only one reeling from this new development.

He took a swig then passed it back to Sam, sighing, "What now?"

"The same thing we always do." Sam replied quietly, taking another swig from the bottle and tilting it towards Dean as an offering, "We hunt. We move on. What else can we do?"

"I'll drink to that."

And they did.


End file.
